


Unearned

by ourdivineashes



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Coda, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-21
Updated: 2013-11-21
Packaged: 2018-01-02 06:58:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1053842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ourdivineashes/pseuds/ourdivineashes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Missing scene from 9.06</p><p>"This all would be so much easier if Cas were angry. If he were moody and taciturn, hurt by how Dean made him leave just weeks before, if he were being an uncooperative little shit, maybe then Dean could figure out how to deal with this. Maybe then he wouldn’t hate himself so much."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unearned

When he flips on the switch beside the door, a warm haze fills the generic motel room, casting blurry shadows over the tacky wallpaper and even tackier bedspread. Dean leads the way, holding the door open for Cas, who shuffles in awkwardly, takes in the room as if it belongs to Dean. Which makes Dean want to scoff, because he’s lost track of how many times Cas had popped into one of the rooms he and Sam stayed in while they were on the road, and he hadn’t cared about the cheap décor or ugly carpets back then.

But this is now, and it must be a whole new experience to actually enter a room instead of just materializing.

“I’ll take the couch,” Dean says, dropping his duffel on the table by the window. He needs to take a piss, but he unzips the bag first, pulling out the extra t-shirt he stuffed in there. “Don’t sleep in your shirt, you don’t wanna show up looking wrinkled. There’s a hanger in the closet, I think, you can just put it there.”

Cas looks solemn as he accepts the offered clothing, a plain grey thing that Dean bought in a bulk pack, ages ago. He holds it reverently, like it’s an extension of Dean’s own body, and the thought makes Dean twitch, so he goes back to digging through the duffel. The first aid kit is buried at the bottom, and once he’s pulled it out, he sets it on the table.

“’m gonna take a leak real quick,” he says, careful not to let his eyes follow the deft movements of Cas’s fingers, loosening the buttons of his shirt. “I’ll take care of that cut in a sec, okay?”

“Okay,” says Cas. The look he gives him is altogether too grateful, too appreciative for such a small promise, and Dean has to turn away, go lock himself in the bathroom before he does anything stupid.

He takes a moment to lean against the closed door, let his head fall back on the plywood and release a shaky breath. He can’t do this.

This all would be so much easier if Cas were angry. If he were moody and taciturn, hurt by how Dean made him leave just weeks before, if he were being an uncooperative little shit, maybe then Dean could figure out how to deal with this. Maybe then he wouldn’t hate himself so much.

But Cas is here and he’s offering smiles to Dean, something akin to adoration, acting as if Dean is the one doing _him_ a favor.

What’s worse, what makes Dean feel so sick to his stomach, is that he’s letting him. Each little smile, every gentle touch and confiding glance – Dean soaks it all in. He wonders at himself, that he’s willing to go to these lengths just to find some momentary relief from the guilt that burns at his insides and leaves him raw.

He flushes the toilet and goes to the sink, washing his hands quickly before splashing a bit on his face. It’s a momentary relief too, but he towels dry and squares his shoulders, putting on his game face again.

Except when he steps back out, game face is the last thing on his mind. Cas sits on the end of the bed, his edges looking soft in the warm lamplight, and Dean’s worn shirt hangs loose on his shoulders. The word _human_ comes to mind again for the hundredth time, but it’s never felt like having the wind knocked out of him, never felt like something so intimate.

Cas fiddles with the strip of cloth Dean had wrapped around his wound as a makeshift bandage, loosening the knot so he can pull it free. He glances up at Dean.

“Would you prefer the table, or here on the bed?”

Dean blinks.

 _Oh._ The cut. He means cleaning up the cut.

“The table works,” he says, and the two of them move in sync to sit down together, angling their chairs so that their knees bracket each other. Cas lays his arm out across the wood, his knuckles brushing against Dean’s elbow as he opens up the first aid kit. Alcohol swabs, paper towels, cotton bandages, and medical tape – this is clinical, this is something Dean can do with complete focus, and as he works, it’s easy to push out of his mind the little hitches of breath Cas makes at the sting of alcohol.

He pats the wound dry, holds the bandage down as he wraps the tape around it to stay put. He almost wishes that he weren’t so good at this, that it would take a little longer, because there is canyon of time between now and tomorrow morning when Cas will go back to work.

When he finishes, he finds it hard to let go of Cas’s hand. Dean runs his fingers along the seams of tape, maybe pretending that he wants to be sure that it’ll hold, but Cas begins to move his fingers too, following the heart lines of Dean’s palm, and soon their fingers will tangle and there will be tugging and lost breaths and heavy hands and –

Dean pulls away, breathing deeply. “All good,” he says, voice gruff, and leans back in his chair.

He scrubs his hands over his face, through his hair. He holds so much inside, everything is so heavy, that he knows that if he even begins to let those barriers down, it will all come tumbling out, a mess that he wouldn’t even know how to begin cleaning up.

When he looks up again, Cas is still facing him. Instead of the disappointment he expects, even something resembling hurt, all he finds in his friend’s expression is _understanding_.

“Cas,” he whispers. “Don’t—don’t look at me like that.”

Cas frowns. “Why?”

He laughs, an empty bitter sound that dies out almost as soon as it began. “I don’t deserve it,” he says, looking down at the garish orange carpet. “Your empathy or… forgiveness.”

“That hardly matters,” Cas says. “Whether or not you believe you deserve it, I’m giving it to you anyway.”

Something fierce takes over him then, and as they meet each other’s gazes, neither budging, it reminds Dean of the days not so long ago where they would stand toe to toe, locked in a war of wills. He can’t decide if it was all more intense when Cas’s stubbornness was backed by angelic power or now by the force of human emotion.

Suddenly, he is very tired. He lays his head in his hands, a fragile cradle of arms supported by a fragile brace of knees.

“How?” he asks.

“How what, Dean?” says Cas.

“How are you not pissed at me? How do you not hate me for hanging you out to dry when I just—” His voice breaks, and he swallows the rest back down, head still heavy in his hands.

“I’m afraid,” Cas begins, and Dean hears him shift forward before he feels a gentle hand on his crown, smoothing down his hair. “There’s not much you could do to make me hate you, Dean. You are… you’re a good man. The best man.”

Dean feels his eyes burning, and he catches hold of Cas’s wrist as he looks up at him. “I’m not,” he says.

Cas moves his hand, reaches down to cup Dean’s cheek. “You _are_ ,” he says again. He rubs his thumb across Dean’s skin, following the gentle curve of cheekbone. “You carry so much and you try so hard and you are _good_.”

“ _Cas._ ” It’s too much, these words, it’s everything that he never knew he needed to hear and all that he doesn’t deserve, but he can’t help leaning his face into Cas’s hand. Tears fall, hot on his cheeks, and somehow it seems the most natural thing when Cas leans forward and kisses them away.

His lips trail down each cheek, soft and warm on his skin, and Dean seeks them out with his own mouth. The two of them hover for a moment, breaths mingling as their lips barely catch each other, but it’s Cas who presses forward first. He kisses carefully, precisely, like if he moves just right, everything he wants Dean to understand will be imbued within. Dean opens his mouth, lets it pour into him, because in this moment he wants to understand. He wants to know just what it is that this beautiful, fallen creature – his truest friend – sees in him, that he can still feel so much for Dean in spite of everything.

 _“You are wonderful,”_ Cas breathes out, and Dean inhales it in.

 _“You are immense,”_ Cas traces into his skin, and Dean memorizes the pattern.

 _“You are worthy of much love,”_ Cas says with his body, standing them up and walking them toward the bed, and Dean falls back against the covers, ready to let his heart be filled.


End file.
